Deadline
Page 42
“I’ll get right on that,” Maggie said, walking over and slapping a can of Coke into my hand before putting the plate with my omelet next to my discarded coffee cup.
“Good. Becks—”
“Come up with some believable outdoor footage.” She stood, picking up her plate. “I’ll set up out in the van.”
“Good. Alaric—”
“Ground-level analysis of the Oakland tragedy, short memorial piece on Dave.” He rose as he spoke, expression already far away. “I should be able to cobble something together fast enough to let me hit the forums and do some damage control after.”
“That’s excellent. Now what are we going to do about the Doc?”
“I thought you’d ask that,” said Alaric, looking briefly smug. He likes being efficient. “I checked Buffy’s stock of precoded IDs. Kelly looks enough like Buffy did that she can use most of them.”
“Any of them come with medical credentials?”
“No strict medical, but three scientific. I have an ichthyologist—a fish scientist,” Alaric added, seeing my look of blank incomprehension. “Also a theoretical physicist and a psychologist.”
“I minored in psychology,” said Kelly, sounding relieved to have something to contribute to the discussion. “I’ve never practiced, but I can fake it if I have to.”
“Great. Alaric, get the ID up and running, make sure it passes any surface checks people are likely to run, and go from there. You’re still a doc, Doc. We’re going to hire you to replace Dave as soon as we come back to civilization.” Kelly looked faintly alarmed. I grinned. “Don’t worry. Mahir will ghostwrite your articles, and we’ll just publish them under—what byline are we publishing these under, Alaric?”
“Barbara Tinney.”
“Great. We’ll publish them under the Barbara Tinney byline. It reinforces the impression that you’re legit—and we can just call you ‘Doc’ in public.”
“You’re crazy,” pronounced Becks.
“And you’re carrying eight guns,” I replied. “Now that we’ve covered what everybody knows, can we move on? When I post, I’ll say a few words about Dave and how honored we all are to have worked with him, bullshit, bullshit, blah, blah, blah.” I waved my free hand vaguely before cracking open the Coke and taking a deep drink. The acidic sweetness hit the back of my throat like a slap. I choked a little, getting my breath back, and finished: “I’ll hit the staff boards. Give everybody the edited version of the situation. Be done with your reports and ready to roll by ten.”
“Where are we going?” asked Kelly, looking like she couldn’t tell whether she should be relieved to be getting away from Maggie or worried about what was coming next.
“And why are we going now?” asked Alaric.
I couldn’t blame him for the question. He wasn’t there when we lost Buffy, or when we lost George. I took a deep breath, held it long enough to be sure I’d stay calm while I answered him, and said, “If we sit here until we feel ready to move, we’re never going to move again. We’re going to get comfortable, and we’re going to stay here until we die. We don’t want to run off half-cocked, either, but there’s a line between the two, and if we don’t find it, we’re f**ked. As for where we’re going…” I turned a predatory smile on Kelly. “That’s what the Doc here is going to tell me.”
“Me?” she asked, sounding surprised.
“You. Come on. We’re using the living room terminal, and you’re going to explain what I’m not getting out of all those lovely notes you brought for us.” Picking up my omelet, I added, “You have your assignments, everybody. Two hours. Be ready.”
Kelly followed me to the living room and sat next to me at the desk. “Perk up. It’s not like you went out of the frying pan and into the fire. It’s more like out of the frying pan and into the industrial-strength toaster.”
“I don’t understand.” She shook her head, looking perplexed. “This is our chance to go to ground. Why aren’t we doing it?”
“And where would we go? Canada? We’re not going to get any answers there. I trust Maggie’s system to keep us off the grid, and whoever arranged to have Oakland deleted is going to have trouble sweeping it under the rug if they pull it a second time. I know my job, okay?” I tapped the side of my head, smile fading. “I’ve got a few brain cells still working up here.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t start. My mood stays better if you don’t start.” I turned to the keyboard. The terminal turned itself on as soon as its sensors “saw” me looking at it, and I typed my password to unlock the home network.
“Noted,” she said. She didn’t sound like she approved, but at the moment, that was at the bottom of my priority list.
“Good.” All Maggie’s computer equipment was top of the line. Having parents with money and Buffy Meissonier as your original technical consultant will do that. “I spent a few hours after the rest of you went to bed going through those files you brought us last night. Didn’t understand half of what I was reading, but George managed to explain some of it for me.”
Kelly’s expression went very still, like she was fighting an inner battle to keep herself from pointing out that George couldn’t explain anything, because, guess what, George was dead. I’ve seen that look a lot since the funeral. As long as she could keep herself from saying anything, I could keep myself from getting angry that she’d want to.
“Good. Becks—”
“Come up with some believable outdoor footage.” She stood, picking up her plate. “I’ll set up out in the van.”
“Good. Alaric—”
“Ground-level analysis of the Oakland tragedy, short memorial piece on Dave.” He rose as he spoke, expression already far away. “I should be able to cobble something together fast enough to let me hit the forums and do some damage control after.”
“That’s excellent. Now what are we going to do about the Doc?”
“I thought you’d ask that,” said Alaric, looking briefly smug. He likes being efficient. “I checked Buffy’s stock of precoded IDs. Kelly looks enough like Buffy did that she can use most of them.”
“Any of them come with medical credentials?”
“No strict medical, but three scientific. I have an ichthyologist—a fish scientist,” Alaric added, seeing my look of blank incomprehension. “Also a theoretical physicist and a psychologist.”
“I minored in psychology,” said Kelly, sounding relieved to have something to contribute to the discussion. “I’ve never practiced, but I can fake it if I have to.”
“Great. Alaric, get the ID up and running, make sure it passes any surface checks people are likely to run, and go from there. You’re still a doc, Doc. We’re going to hire you to replace Dave as soon as we come back to civilization.” Kelly looked faintly alarmed. I grinned. “Don’t worry. Mahir will ghostwrite your articles, and we’ll just publish them under—what byline are we publishing these under, Alaric?”
“Barbara Tinney.”
“Great. We’ll publish them under the Barbara Tinney byline. It reinforces the impression that you’re legit—and we can just call you ‘Doc’ in public.”
“You’re crazy,” pronounced Becks.
“And you’re carrying eight guns,” I replied. “Now that we’ve covered what everybody knows, can we move on? When I post, I’ll say a few words about Dave and how honored we all are to have worked with him, bullshit, bullshit, blah, blah, blah.” I waved my free hand vaguely before cracking open the Coke and taking a deep drink. The acidic sweetness hit the back of my throat like a slap. I choked a little, getting my breath back, and finished: “I’ll hit the staff boards. Give everybody the edited version of the situation. Be done with your reports and ready to roll by ten.”
“Where are we going?” asked Kelly, looking like she couldn’t tell whether she should be relieved to be getting away from Maggie or worried about what was coming next.
“And why are we going now?” asked Alaric.
I couldn’t blame him for the question. He wasn’t there when we lost Buffy, or when we lost George. I took a deep breath, held it long enough to be sure I’d stay calm while I answered him, and said, “If we sit here until we feel ready to move, we’re never going to move again. We’re going to get comfortable, and we’re going to stay here until we die. We don’t want to run off half-cocked, either, but there’s a line between the two, and if we don’t find it, we’re f**ked. As for where we’re going…” I turned a predatory smile on Kelly. “That’s what the Doc here is going to tell me.”
“Me?” she asked, sounding surprised.
“You. Come on. We’re using the living room terminal, and you’re going to explain what I’m not getting out of all those lovely notes you brought for us.” Picking up my omelet, I added, “You have your assignments, everybody. Two hours. Be ready.”
Kelly followed me to the living room and sat next to me at the desk. “Perk up. It’s not like you went out of the frying pan and into the fire. It’s more like out of the frying pan and into the industrial-strength toaster.”
“I don’t understand.” She shook her head, looking perplexed. “This is our chance to go to ground. Why aren’t we doing it?”
“And where would we go? Canada? We’re not going to get any answers there. I trust Maggie’s system to keep us off the grid, and whoever arranged to have Oakland deleted is going to have trouble sweeping it under the rug if they pull it a second time. I know my job, okay?” I tapped the side of my head, smile fading. “I’ve got a few brain cells still working up here.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t start. My mood stays better if you don’t start.” I turned to the keyboard. The terminal turned itself on as soon as its sensors “saw” me looking at it, and I typed my password to unlock the home network.
“Noted,” she said. She didn’t sound like she approved, but at the moment, that was at the bottom of my priority list.
“Good.” All Maggie’s computer equipment was top of the line. Having parents with money and Buffy Meissonier as your original technical consultant will do that. “I spent a few hours after the rest of you went to bed going through those files you brought us last night. Didn’t understand half of what I was reading, but George managed to explain some of it for me.”
Kelly’s expression went very still, like she was fighting an inner battle to keep herself from pointing out that George couldn’t explain anything, because, guess what, George was dead. I’ve seen that look a lot since the funeral. As long as she could keep herself from saying anything, I could keep myself from getting angry that she’d want to.
